Party
by HelenaRewrite
Summary: Young Greg House at his father's army party, and the consequences he faces when he breaks the rules. Rated T for child abuse. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

I was sitting on a chair in the corner of the kitchen reading my favorite Sherlock Holmes book, _The Hound of The Baskerville_, trying to block out the sounds of my father's gathering going on around me.

I carefully peeked up from the page I was on to inspect the occupants of the room.

There were men in fantastic uniforms, with medals of honor covering their chests. I noticed the silver eagle pin that all the men were wearing, and scoffed silently. I wasn't sure why I was surprised, my father would _never_ have any man ranking lower than him inside his house, when he made his own son sleep in the yard when I misbehaved.

I scanned the room, seeing not only army men, but their wives as well. All of whom were wearing soft pink dresses and sipping some kind of fruity drink from tall wine glasses my mother had set out earlier.

I was just about to go back to reading, when a voice startled me into looking up.

"Hi, Little House," I surprisingly young man greeted me, kneeling down so we were at eye level.

"Hello sir," I mumbled, uncomfortable with the sudden company. I detested the nickname "Little House" that most of my dad's friends used when they came over, but I dared not say anything, fearing there would be dire consequences if I were disrespectful.

"How old are you, now?" he asked me, like he had known me since birth, when I really had no clue who he was.

"Eight sir," I answered quietly, as I looked around for my father. Didn't this man know if my dad saw that I was speaking to him I would face yet another punishment? And it would be a bad one too, since he made it very clear I was to keep my mouth shut for the evening.

"Really? I would have guessed at least ten, you'll be big and strong when you grow up, just like your dad." He smiled as I grimaced.

_God forbid I end up like him_, I thought.

"What're you reading?" he asked, pointing to my book.

"_The Hound of The Baskerville, _sir," I said, doubting that this man had read even one page of a book like this one, much less understand it. He was a soldier, not a student.

"That's one of my favorites!" he exclaimed, taking me by surprise. You're so young to be reading such a big book, and do you understand what's happening?"

"Yes sir, I do." I paused, and then added, "Do you really like Sherlock Holmes?"

I had to make sure he wasn't just making fun of my reading choices, like Dad had so many times before.

"Of course! I love the great mind of Holmes, and I always thought it would be fun to have a friend like Dr. Watson."

For the first time that day, I cracked a smile. I couldn't even help it. I always thought army men were all the same, angry, and untrained in the world of literacy, just like my father. But this man had proven me very wrong, and this was one time I didn't mind so much.

"Have you ever read-" the young man started to ask, but was cut off by a voice that sent chills down my spine.

"Greg!" my father barked coming up behind his friend, who instantly stood up at the sound of my dad's voice.

"What did I tell you about bothering the men tonight?"

I was about to spit out an answering, anything ending in "sir," but the younger colonel beat me to it.

"Oh no John, don't be mad at Greg, I was talking to him first, you have a very bright son."

I couldn't believe it. This man was defending me, and I had just met him!

"Well...ummm, yes, thank you, Greg is a very talented boy," Dad said, reaching his hand over to me. I immediately flinched away bracing myself to be smacked, but instead, he tousled my hair, pretending to be a good father. I relaxed. He wouldn't hit me with so many witnesses around.

Dad's friend didn't seem to notice me flinch, thank god, but he did lean back down to me and offered a farewell.

"Nice talking to you, Little House, keep on reading."

And then he walked away, leaving me alone with my dad, who leaned down, too close for comfort.

"Get to your room _now _and don't you dare come out until everyone's gone, I'll deal with you later."

As I was getting up, he gave my shoulder a quick squeeze, digging his thumb hard into my flesh, and smiled down at me. To anyone else this would look like a normal father-son interaction, but only I knew the impending beating soon to come.

As I walked to my room, I could almost feel the heavy leather belt ripping into my exposed skin, and sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews! Here's chapter two.**

It seemed like I had been waiting for hours. I hated waiting, it was one of the worst parts of a punishment. I could handle sleeping outside, or taking an ice bath, or even being beaten, but anticipating the punishment was the hardest. I had to sit and think, _What is he going to do to me today?_ or _How long do I go without food this time?_

There were a million things running through my head every time I was sent to my room, like there were that night.

I just really wanted to get it over with because I knew he would never let it slide just once.

_"Discipline is the only way you'll learn, Greg," _was my father's reasoning for the punishments I recieved after every little thing I did wrong.

I had disobeyed a direct order, there were sure to be consequences.

I had moved from sitting in front of my bookshelf to my bed when the door opened.

I froze. Time was up.

He came in, still dressed in his uniform. I noticed he was wearing his military issued belt that went along with the rest of his outfit. Would that be the punishment tonight? He had hit me with a belt before, but it had never been a time when I had done something this "bad." It would be harder and he wouldn't hold back this time.

"Stand up boy," he commanded.

I stood. It would do me no good to make him angrier than he already was by resisting.

"Do you know what you did that was _very _bad tonight, Greg?"

"Yes sir," I whimpered.

"And what was that?"

So we were playing this game again. I always wondered why I had to explain my misdeeds to him when we both knew that I had done something wrong and was about to be punished for it.

"I-I spoke to a- someone when you told me not to," I answered to the floor.

"Why would you do that, didn't I specifically tell you to keep quiet tonight while people were visiting the house?"

"Yes sir, but he spoke to me first and I didn't want to be disrepectful," I rushed, trying to explain myself.

He ignored my last comment.

"What did you tell him, Greg? Did you talk to him about how bad you are, and how I always have to punish you? Did you tell him that you're a liar, and a _very _bad boy, and liars and bad children get punished in this house? Hmmm? Did you ask him to lie for you so that you wouldn't get in trouble for bothering him? What did you tell him, Greg, answer me!

He bombarded me with so many questions, my head started to spin.

"No!" I suddenly shouted. "I only talked to him about books!

Bad idea.

"You were boring one of my men with your talk of books? You really _are_ a disrespectful little bastard aren't you?"

My heart began to race as he began loosening the belt of his pants.

"No Daddy, Daddy please!" I begged.

"Come here, Greg," he said calmly, and that's when I knew I was in for it. He was most dangerous when he was about to punish me, and he was calm.

When I didn't move, he grabbed my arm roughly with his free hand and dragged me over to him.

"Don't Daddy, please" I tried one more time, but I knew it was futile.

"You know when you break the rules, you get punished."

And that's when it began. He started with the leather strap of the belt, beating my back and shoulders. Each hit pierced my skin with such excruciating pain, it was all I could do not to struggle away.

I tried to focus on something-anything-else, but I couldn't help myself from couting how many times I heard the belt hit my flesh.

_Smack!_ One. Pause.

_Smack!_ Two. Pause.

_Smack!_ Three. Pause.

I silently willed him to stop, but dared not speak a word because it would only intesify the punishment.

After I counted about 30 smacks with the belt, there was a pause, and I thought he was finished, I thought it was over. But that would be too easy, I realized. I was stupid to underestimate my father's cruelty.

That pause was only to reposition the belt to the side with the hard brass buckle, and when that came down on my exposed skin, I couldn't help but cry out.

"Take it like a man, Greg!" he exclaimed, bringing the belt down on my left shoulder. I clenched my teeth, resisting the urge to scream in anguish, and trying desperatly to hang on to consciousness.

After he had turned the belt around, I lost count of how many times I was hit. I couldn't concentrate on anything else, the pain had enveloped my body in an unwelcome fiery embrace. I never knew an inanimate object could hurt someone so terribly.

And then, it stopped. Instantaneously, he let up. I didn't know what to expect next, but after a few minutes, I realized the punishment was over.

Even though I was not instructed to do so, I climbed back onto my bed and sat, desperatly wanting to crawl under the covers and go to sleep. Instead, I waited to be addressed as my dad put his belt back on.

"Stop crying," he ordered, and I realized there were tears streaming down my cheek. Funny how something like crying can go unnoticed until it's pointed out by someone else.

"You're lucky I didn't give you a bath for this."

At the mention of an ice bath, I shuddered. I remembered in vivid detail my last bath, and did not want another one.

"You'll mind what I tell you now, especially regarding the people I bring into this house, won't you?" he asked.

"Yes sir," I all but whispered, my voice sounding foreign in my throat.

"Good. And I don't want to see you out of this room for the rest of the night or tomorrow morning until I come andd get you, do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," I repeated, watching him walk to my bedroom door and turn out the lights.

He closed the door, leaving me in complete darkness.

Because I couldn't see, I felt my way under the covers, trying to kep weight off the sorest parts of my body. I didn't try to assess the damage my father had caused because there wasn't anything I could have done about it.

As I began drifting off to sleep, I kept repeating three words to myself;

_You deserved it, you deserved it, you deserved it. _

And by the time I had finally dozed off, I almost believed my words to be true.

Almost.


End file.
